Grant Polke
I once knew of this bloke,
he was quite extraordinaire
He was a wealth of knowledge,
there was no one to compare
He had been there and done that,
tall stories, soon were told
Of his mining adventures,
in those days of old
They called him Polke,
his first name was Grant
The simple taste of beer,
would start to make him chant
He would baffle you with bullshit,
as he raved throughout the night
Only to stopping to urinate,
which gave him some delight?
But one night at Mount Dore,
he met a fearsome foe
A truckie that had ventured in,
to this bar for a just a blow
He wasn't short of wit,
this old truck driving man
As he pranced around the women,
with his dark and golden tan
He would straddle up beside them,
and the girls began to cackle
As this lonely old truckie,
showed them all his tackle
One young girl was shell shocked,
as his he leaned on her knee
She ran straight for the door,
she did'nt want to see
Polke was devastated,
this bloke had muscled in
He had them in fits of laughter,
with his silly bloody grin
Polke soon returned,
with half a cheeky smile
Then said that he would dance,
it was called Gangham Style
He danced around the bar,
like he never dance before
As he pointed to the truckie,
come and dance upon this floor
Both of them were dancing,
a fierce battle had began
Who would be the winner?
The last one left to stand?
But the night was to end quickly,
as the bar was about to close
And who won that battle,
well, nobody really knows
The next day that old truckie
left for another place
And as for that bloke Polke
, he had a smile upon his face
Now it seems he’s also leaving,
off to another mine
No matter where he goes,
I’m sure that he will shine…..
Len Newey 2012